Winner
by His Majesty the Emperor
Summary: "Cause despite it all, me and every other guy who will never be what he wanted to be, are still out there being what we don't want to be, forty hours a week for life. And the fact that I haven't put a gun in my mouth, you pudding of a woman, makes me a winner!"


**I recently re watched some episodes of Married…With Children and I have decided to pay tribute to one of my personal heroes, Al Bundy, with a one shot. I don't really expect much of a response to this one since I don't think many people have even heard of this show before, but hey, what can you do? I do not own Married…With Children. Therefore I am not making any money off of this. Please leave a review!**

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It's closing time at Gary's shoe store. Another day, another dollar, or in my case another nickel. Today has been much like any other. Traffic was awful and the store was crammed with a bunch of loud, angry fat women. Why can't any supermodels come into the store looking for a pair of heels? Oh that's right, I'm Al Bundy, my luck doesn't work that way.

Today one particular fat woman stampeded into the store. I knew this one would be memorable because at first I thought Chicago was experiencing an Earthquake. But no, it was just her footsteps. Anyway she trots in like she owns the damned place and demands a new pair of shoes. So naturally we went through the process of trying on different pairs with her complaining all the way, insisting that she is a size six when she is obviously at least three times that big.

After about half an hour of putting up with her she asks what my opinion on the matter is. Bad question to ask. So naturally I suggested that the only things big enough for her to wear on her feet would be two transatlantic oil tankers.

For some unforeseeable reason she didn't seem to take my suggestion very well.

"How DARE you say such a thing to my face?" she bellowed.

I just sat back, mock confusion written on my face.

"Well I'd say it to your back but my car only has half a tank of gas."

For some odd reason she seems even angrier at me now.

"You're a wretched little man aren't you? But then again I didn't really expect much. You have failure written all over you, I can tell. I bet your entire life has been one tremendous string of failures. You are absolutely worthless. I bet if you died tomorrow no one would even care. Have fun being such a big waste of space, _shoeman_."

And with that she was gone. Just one more nameless fat woman in a long line of fat women I have had to put up with over the years. But as I am locking up for the night I can't help but remember what she said.

Not that I care. Not that I feel even remotely offended or upset with her words, for I've been on the receiving end of worse. But it surprises me that after all of these years practically everyone I have ever met has treated me like garbage and written me off as a loser.

Perhaps this is Karma, or maybe God just likes screwing with me, I have no idea. Back in High School I was king. The girls wanted me, the guys wanted to be me. I was the greatest football player to ever grace Polk High School. I had it all. Of course my proudest moment was scoring four touchdowns in a single game. That was a moment I will never forget. It was the greatest moment of my life.

It's funny how life can take such a sudden turn. Shortly after I scored those four touchdowns I accidentally knocked up the girl I was going out with. Needless to say when her father found out he wasn't exactly pleased. Before you know it I found myself at the altar with my now pregnant girlfriend and the business end of a shotgun pointed at my head. Nine months later my daughter Kelly was born, a few years after her my son Bud came into the world. The rest as they say was history.

I twisted my ankle about a year after I got married, leaving me incapable of ever playing football again on a professional level.

The part time job I had had as a high school student, selling women's shoes, now became my full time career.

Now I'm sure people wonder how my life could get any worse. Well it turns out Peg, my wife, is a freeloading gold digger who spends money like there's no tomorrow. Now we're broke. But that's okay, since we've always been broke, but I like to think I would be better off if the wife and kids stopped throwing money away and, I don't know, actually did a day's work.

People think I'm a pathetic loser. All of my neighbors hate me, my wife and kids constantly harass me for money, and the people I serve at the store are a bunch of ungrateful cows.

Many look down upon me with disdain, declaring my life a failure and declaring me to be a washed up old has-been. Everyone thinks I am a loser. Everyone is dead wrong.

It's true that I have an awful job that I hate. It's true that I have a family that shows me no respect. And it's true that I live in a neighborhood and a city that curses the day I was born. But I'm not a loser. No, no, no.

The rest of the world has no idea how good they have it. They're spoiled and entitled, unwilling and unable to do a hard day's work for less than minimum wage. I'd like to see some of these people who look down their noses at me do my job and live my life for a single day. I'd like to see these people go through the same amount of abuse and ridicule I go through. I'd like to see them live with and support a bunch of lazy no good kids and a lazy no good spouse.

They'd all crack pretty quickly I bet. Most people would go mad from despair within a week, but I haven't. I have been living through this routine for nearly twenty two years, broke and downtrodden, and still I go on.

Why?

Because I'm not a loser. Every day I get up, get dressed, have absolutely nothing for breakfast, hop into my rundown, beaten up old Dodge with no upholstery, no gas, and six more payments just to deal with the Chicago traffic in order to get to my awful job.

You see I keep on going to prove a point. I'm tougher than any man out there. I have been on the receiving end of every cruel joke, every unlucky circumstance and every unfortunate accident. I have been robbed, beaten, shot at, threatened, embarrassed, humiliated, and abused, and yet I'm still here. Other men by this point would have put a gun in their mouths or a noose around their necks, but I'm still here.

Why? Because I'm Al Bundy dammit, and when the world gets tough I get tougher. The entire world hates me, but I persevere. No matter how many times life gets me down I always manage to find a way to beat it.

And no matter how many times I am insulted or laughed at it is always I who emerges victorious with the last laugh.

You see, I think the world is afraid of me. I have been through hell. I have dealt with challenges that not even Hercules could beat and I still exist. Despite all of life's miseries and woes plaguing me I have never let it bring me down. I have never surrendered, though it would be understandable if I did. I have lived a life that would have driven others to suicide years ago and I am still here.

That is why the world fears and hates me. Only a truly great man could endure physically and mentally the trials and tribulations I have endured every day over the past few decades. I think people subconsciously understand this and realize that they could never be as strong as me. That is why I am laughed at and routinely humiliated, because everyone knows that they can never be better than me, and they hate that. They hate realizing their own weakness, and so they put me down in a vain attempt to make themselves feel better. But these people will never win. I have seen and experienced the worst that the world has to offer and defied it. I continue to exist out of pure spite for those who would love to see guys like me broken and worn down. And no matter what happens, no matter what obstacle gets in my way I keep on going because that is all I can do, because I must.

I suppose what I am trying to say is this: I'm Al Bundy, and I'm a winner.


End file.
